Connected by Fire
by mrs.mythical
Summary: AU. Grace has been haunted for years by her abusive past in Mercy Falls. Sam thinks he's a monster and loses more of himself every winter. They're scarred, damaged, lost, and drowning. Will they find peace in each other? M for violence, abuse, NO RAPE.
1. Prologue

**A/N: My first ever Shiver fan-fic. Let me know if you like it, and please be gracious with reviews :). Haven't read Linger yet, but I plan on purchasing a copy as soon as I can! I know this is very short, but it's a prologue. Just setting down a proper foundation because this is going to be a wild ride, folks. **

Prologue: Part one, Grace

The funeral was in a week. I told Mom that it was a bad idea, horrible, even; we both hated the man, but she insisted it would give me, _us_, closure. I disagreed. I didn't want to leave California, didn't want to have to face my past in Mercy Falls. It was bad enough having his last name tacked onto the end of mine for the rest of my life, or at least until I get married.

I was packing my clothes into my old, practical suit case. _Long sleeves, jeans, sweaters, flannel pants…_ It was the beginning of October, but I knew better than to hope for transitional summer-fall warmth. I'd always been cold in that town…

I couldn't wait for this week to be over and my so-called father's coffin to be six feet under, cold and lifeless.

##

Prologue: Part two, Sam

I knew I was subconsciously nearing the origin of my transformation. Of my loss of humanity. _Of my death._ I shook my head, as if to rid it of the dark thoughts. I didn't want to think of it like that anymore, but they always came back, haunting my mind.

I could smell the nervousness radiating off of the young, female clerk. I purchased the small thermometer-compass and shoved it in my front pocket. I wanted to have it on hand, just in case. I could feel that the changes were getting closer, supposedly strange for my age. I wouldn't believe anything they told me, anymore.

Every winter, my instincts led me to the same place, and every time I changed back into a human, I got as far away from it as possible. I couldn't wait, whether it was for spring to come or death, I couldn't be sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Big thanks to all the readers for this! A special thanks to my beta for this story, Sillysac, without whom this chapter wouldn't make so much sense. The italics are just to differentiate MStiefvater's writing and my own. Just finished Linger and omigod, I can't believe it. Uber good work, Maggie. Some of this chapter inspired by "I Go Back To May 1937" by Sharon Olds. She's a magnificent poet, you should google her work. Shiver and all its characters belong to Maggie Stiefvater. No copyright infringement intended. There is abuse in this chapter, so be forewarned. It's not very graphic, but mostly to get a point across.**

Chapter two, Grace

It all started when I was six years old. Our family was in financial trouble, the whole small-town life not really making either of my parents the wealthy entrepreneurs they'd like to be.

Mom wanted to be an artist, but she couldn't support her dreams by getting a studio to display her work or the proper supplies to let her thrive. (We didn't know then that it was because Dad had been drinking our money away, as well as spending it on other unsavory things.) Dad had always had simple, yet unobtainable dreams. He wanted to be a psychiatrist, but when he was studying in college, he had met Mom.

It was a typical, gag-worthy story of boy-meets-girl. Dad went to the coffee shop Mom worked at every other day, and eventually they got to talking. They realized they had a lot more in common than they had expected, and they fell in love. Pushing aside his hopes, dreams, and parents' objections, Dad proposed, and Mom said yes.

They went on what may be the cheapest, crappiest honeymoon of all time and I was conceived. They worked hard, trying to make and save up as much money as possible to raise me. Mom landed a second part-time job at a daycare center, learning some parenting skills and sharing her love of art with kids. Dad got an assistant's position at a psychiatrist's office during the day and a night job, doing inventory at a local chain grocery store.

In nine short months my parents had been able to scrape together enough cash together to insure my well-being for the time being. They had created a sort of safety net; selling unwanted valuables, investments, along with their jobs. They had a roof over their heads, jobs and insurance, and support from some friends and family. It should have paved the way for a bright, happy future - my parents were young, energetic people with an aura of hope surrounding them. There was no way to predict that only six short years after my birth, dad would snap like a twig.

So when I came home from school that day, Mom out working and a drunken Dad at home, I was terrified. I hadn't ever seen my father drunk before. He had been the good dad; the average, embarrassing one that told me lies about boys and made lame jokes to waitresses.

Now, he was sprawled out on the couch, an empty beer bottle in his hand and an open bottle of whiskey within reach. He had been mumbling something about 'lost futures' and 'ungrateful people.' I could feel it in my body, the tension and fear seeping into my veins and making my heart pound. I set my backpack down quietly in the entryway and whispered, "Dad?"

His half-closed, half-crazed eyes zeroed in on me, the anger building up like a fire behind his irises. "You piece of shit!" he slurred at me. "You." He drew the word out slowly and accusingly. I almost started trembling under his gaze. "You _RUINED _me! I could have had it _aawwwwllll_, and then that _whore_ tricked me!"

His words were terrifying, The alcohol making his small, southern accent stand out in a way I had never noticed before. He was chugging down his drink again at a pace that made my small frame quiver at the sight.

Mom had told me before that if anything like this happened, to play it safe and go along. Try to make it out to a safe place.

"Okay, Dad. I'm sorry. It won't happen again," I replied solemnly. My high voice was strained, but I prevented it from shaking. I began to slowly make my way to my room, not wanting to get his attention.

Too bad it didn't work.

"WHADDA YA MEAN? _It won't happen again_?" he shouted, the words filled with disgust. He was standing now, scaring me more. "You're damn RIGHT it won't happen again!" I didn't know what to say, so I just looked from him to my bedroom door every couple of seconds.

He grumbled under his breath, but it sounded like a threat. I tried to creep over to my room again, but his drunken state didn't inhibit his ability to catch my moves at all. All of a sudden, his face changed into one of pure fury. I was no longer his daughter and he was no longer my dad; I was the reason for his failures and he wanted revenge.

He charged me.

I shoved the door open and lurched into my room, diving under my bed. I pulled the stuffed animals that I had stored underneath around me so that I could be as hidden as possible, with Big Bird by my head to camouflage the blonde and a bright pink Taz by my shirt. He burst in only seconds after I had, and grunted, searching. I could hear him check my closet to no avail.

Then my bed sheets.

Then under the bed.

I yelped as he grasped hold of the back of my shirt and pulled my scrambling form out from under it. He was hovering over me, yelling incomprehensible words. Tears started running down my cheeks, to my hair, and I had never expected what came next.

Sure, he had yelled before, but not like this. But then he was grasping my upper thigh, enough to make me cry out in pain as I was sure the blood had been cut off. Then he slapped at my rib cage, leaving me stinging and eventually numb. He yanked at my hair, making more tears fall from the corners of my eyes. Eventually he stopped, grumbling and going to his study, taking the whiskey with him.

He told me not to tell Mom; that if I did, he would make sure I would never see the likes of her again, possibly even the sunlight. The next day, I wore capris and a longer sleeved shirt than usual for an April day, but nobody questioned it. Dad gave me an apologetic, but angry look. It was _very_ confusing and scary for me.

Back then, he only got drunk enough to beat me a few times a year, but as I grew bigger and his fury went on, unabated, things got worse. It went from a few times a year to a few times a month, every other month.

Mom always told me that she loved and cared about me more than anything, and I knew she meant it, but she was also a flighty woman. After all, she hadn't really expected to have a child so soon in her life, but was happy to have me, age and traadition be damned. Mom never noticed the marks because I never told her and Dad was usually sleeping or sobered up when she got home. Even if she did notice a little discoloring in passing and asked, I would always reply with an excuse that involved rough play or wrestling with other kids, maybe even some clumsiness if she got suspicious. The third year, when I was nine, I had almost slipped up and let a bruise on my arm show; it was winter, so he spread out the markings since I could cover up more. Mom had gasped at the yellowish purple on my forearm.

"What is _that?_" she had practically shrieked.

"What?" I mumbled. Then I caught on and wracked my brain for an answer. "Oh, ummm... oh, that's right!" I tried to make my face light up with recognition. "I had to stop quickly. I was walking through the woods, you know, and stopped and tripped. I landed on a pretty big, sharp rock. I don't know how it didn't break the skin..." I trailed off, watching her face to see if the lie was believable. Even at nine I was beginning to fool my mom.

Her brow furrowed and she frowned, but she nodded slightly, accepting it. "Just be careful. If anybody, and I mean _anybody_," her eyes flickered to Dad's study, "is hurting you, you can tell me. You know that, right? I love you, Grace, and I'll take care of you, no matter what." It tugged on my heartstrings to see her like this and know I was lying to her, but I was sure it would be a lot worse if I decided to tell her my terrifying, dark secrets.

It was that same winter I had my first encounter with a yellow-eyed wolf. My wolf.

It was a late January day, and I was home alone. Mom and Dad were working overtime in an attempt to catch up on heating and electricity bills as well as our small, but costly, holiday celebrations. My parents decided that since I was almost ten and our house was primarily concealed by woods, I could be trusted at home by myself. I was finishing up with my schoolwork and planned to go for a walk - against my mother's wishes - since the sun was out. It had been unseasonably cold that afternoon; 15 degrees, if I remember correctly. There shouldn't have been any reason for me to remember so precisely, though...

I held my arms out to my sides, prepared to correct myself if I tripped or fell. I was taking long, large strides to try to keep the snow from getting in or around my boot-tops. I didn't hear anything apart from my footsteps; snow has a way of silencing everything, as if to hide impurities with its white, muted flakes.

I remember getting the breath knocked out me by an impact that hit me in the side. I remember darkness. _I remember lying in the snow, a small red spot of warm going cold once again, surrounded by wolves._

_They were licking me, biting me, worrying at my body, pressing in. Their huddled bodies blocked what little heat the sun offered. Ice glistened on their ruffs and their breath made opaque shapes that hung in the air around us. The musky smell of their coats made me think of wet dog and burning leaves, pleasant and terrifying. Their tongues melted my skin; their careless teeth ripped at my sleves and snagged through my hair, pushed against my collarbone, the pulse at my neck._

_I could have screamed, but I didn't. I could have fought, but I didn't; I knew it would have been pointless, but more than that, I had been waiting for this. To just be free from life's abuse and perjuries. Why fight? I thought to myself, disturbingly at peace. I just lay there and let it happen, watching the winter-white sky above me go gray._

_One wolf prodded his nose into my hand and against my cheek, casting a shadow across my face. His yellow eyes looked into mine while the other wolves jerked me this way and that. I held onto those yellow eyes for as long as I could. Yellow. And, up close, flecked brilliantly with every shade of gold and hazel. I didn't want him to look away, and he didn't. I wanted to reach out and grab his ruff, but my hands stayed curled to my chest, frozen to my body._

_I couldn't remember what it felt like to be warm._

_Then he was gone, and without him, the other wolves closed in, too close, suffocating. Something seemed to flutter in my chest._

_There was no sun; there was no light. I was dying. I couldn't remember what the sky looked like._

_But I didn't die. I was lost to a sea of cold and reborn into a world of warmth._

_I remember this: his yellow eyes._

_I thought I'd never see them again._

##

When I was surrounded by darkness again, I saw those yellow eyes flashing before my eyes. I held onto them like a lifeline, struggling against the pain and the fear.

Nothing quite made sense; the screaming that sounded so familiar, the rapid and urgent shouts, a booming male voice, and the violent twisting in my gut and the heat coming over my body. _If I was attcked by wolves, then why am I still alive?_ I thought. There was a loud _crack_ and that male voice again.

However incapacitated I was, I still knew that sound to be a shotgun. Panic started seeping into my consciousness. What were they doing? Were they going to hurt the yellow-eyed wolf?

I was suddenly being lifted off of the ground. Numbness and exhaustion were taking over me, making my worries and fears melt away like snow in the summer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Huge thanks to readers and reviewers; I really appreciate it! Sorry it's taking so long to update with this, but the beginning is often the slowest part for me to get done. I'm working on the next chapter as of yesterday. My internet was down for a bit, too, so I had to escape to a coffee store for wi-fi. Extra thanks to my awesome beta, whom I don't know what I would do without, Sillysac. I know this chapter is pretty short, but they'll get longer... hopefully. :) Enjoy!  
**

CbF Chapter 3, Sam

Once I was human again, I missed her.

I didn't want to stay with Beck or Paul or any of the other wolves, I wanted to be with _her_. But I was ten, and I knew I would never be able to be with her. I didn't want to hear what they were telling me, either. Every day it was either Beck trying to fix me; sewing all the little pieces of Sam back together, or Ulrik; trying to soothe and ground my mind with German poetry – which actually worked – and Paul; showing me how the pack worked, reinforcing the basics of dominance so that, once the time came, I could be the alpha.

I would smile politely and nod at everything they said, complying,all the while waiting until I was old enough and strong enough to leave them, and that life, behind. It was the scars on my wrists, the vivid memories that crept into my dreams and haunted my nights, the way I couldn't look at a bathtub without bile rising in my throat and seeing blood drip down my arms that had long since dried; all of which I would leave behind. Part of me knew, though, that I would also have to leave the girl behind, the girl that I could never have.

The day we found her in the woods, I immediately knew something was wrong with her. I doubt the others could smell it through their hunger, but I did. My wolf brain told me I shouldn't attack her, that something was off, so I hung back and waited for the others to see. I sent them pictures using our secondary communication of her. _Something's wrong,_ I tried to tell them, but they ignored me. So I used the tactics Paul taught me and made my way to the front, prodding at her palm. Growls rang out behind me, but were silenced soon enough. The girl just lay there, arms held tight to her body, not showing any sign of distress.

Something was definitely wrong with her.

The smell was strong here; the dull, sour, metallic scent of dead blood beneath her skin. Bruises. I stared straight into her eyes, trying to find the answer to what ailment was making her act so strangely, why her scent was thick with the smell of bruised skin. But nothing was there to answer me, just blank serenity that raised the hairs on my back.

With the help of Paul, we forced the rest of the pack into submission. I made them leave the small human be, threatening attack and showing dominance. And, somehow, I changed and carried the bloodied and torn girl home in my arms, bare footprints in the snow the only evidence I had that it really happened after I changed back.

I could hear it from my place at the edge of the woods:

the shouting

the panic

the paramedics

and then the anger.

A gun.

A large man.

A bright orange hat, striking fear into my core.

I ran.

##

Once spring came, I felt an ache in my chest that had only been present once before. I flinched at the memories; torn blankets and sheets, worried faces against worried silhouettes in my doorway, words of resolve that tore my heart out.

I shook my head, and wondered why that feeling was present, but dispelled it. Once I was back at Beck's, I told him about the girl and what I smelled on her.

"Beck," I started in my high-pitched ten-year-old voice. "You know that girl… in January. I smelled something on her." He nodded at me, concern in his eyes and his mouth in a firm, thin line. "It- it was bruising." As soon as I said it, I felt almost embarrassed. _She was little, of course she would have bruises. Little kids play rough_. But I could still see that look in her eyes, smell that sour scent hanging over her, and I couldn't shake that feeling of unease I had when I was there: that simple, instinctual _something is wrong_ that sent red flags waving in my head.

Beck must have been able to see past the absurdity of what I said, and noticed how worried I was about her. "Go ahead, Sam. I'm listening."

"The smell, it was just so _thick_ there, and Beck, you should've seen how she looked at me. It was like she just didn't care! Even I, the one who's..." Images- no, memories that had haunted me almost every time I got upset swirled sickeningly through my head. I forgot what I was saying and looked into Beck's eyes, trying to place the date and where I was, or what we were even talking about.

The way his eyebrows were set, how his lips were sealed, waiting for me to go on, and that human feeling lingering in my gut grounded me, and I gathered my thoughts. At least I _tried_ gathering my thoughts, but instead they scattered like insects after a light as been turned on.

"Um... the girl?" was all I could say, grasping at anything to become Sam again. _Stronger. You need to be stronger. A mind with defenses of steel and control like the others. No need to worry about human things anymore._

"You were worried about her. She had bruising. And you were saying something about her eyes," Beck reminded me.

_Right_. "Yeah, she, uh... her eyes just looked... dead." I almost whispered the last word, knowing better than anybody that a kid should never have dead eyes.

Beck's voice was just short of a slap to the face. "And what are you proposing we do, Sam? Go find her? Call the cops? It's not like-" He dragged a hand down the side of his face. "We can't help her. We can't help anyone." He sounded tired and frustrated, but I didn't care. I couldn't be sure, but I felt like I could help this young girl. If she was being hurt and her parents didn't know... or if it was her _parents_ doing it...

I couldn't let him say that. We had to be able to help.

"So we can't even _talk_ to her? What if I'm lonely? You're all adults, and I'm just a kid! She was _younger than me_, Beck! Did you not _smell_ the way she was damaged? It couldn't be on accident! Even if she was _fine_, what if I want someone to be around that's my age? That's not fair!" My shrill voice echoed throughout the small space of the kitchen area, and though part of my small explosion may have been fibbed, I still didn't want to think that Beck would take me in, but leave a little girl in a situation like hers, even if she wasn't a wolf.

He sighed, put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. "Sam... I know. I- we can't take risks like that. All we have is each other to protect ourselves and we don't need any unnecessary attention. I get that you're a young boy, but I just- I just don't want you to be hurt again, okay? Can you even understand what I'm saying?

"And I know you want to help, and I know you think you have an obligation - that's when you have to, even if you don't want to - to save some girl -" I frowned at his words because she wasn't just _some girl_, "- but Sam... we can't do anything. Are you going to just walk over to her house, uninvited, unannounced, and unknown? If so, what next? 'Hey, my pack was going to kill your daughter for survival and I just happened to notice that while saving her, she smelled like she'd been beat up really bad. I could also tell that she didn't care if she was dying.'" He paused. "Yeah, great idea." Beck's tone left a bitter aftertaste in the air, and I could smell the slight anger he was emitting.

"No, I'm not _stupid_! I would never do that to you all, but... but what if her parents are hurting her?" I tried to reason.

"Nobody's like that here, Sam. Nobody is crazy like that in The Middle of Nowhere, Minnesota-" His eyes were like saucers and his breath caught as he realized what he'd just said. To me. _Me._ The boy who came with a warning label that read 'FRAGILE AND EASILY BROKEN' and whose parents _were _"crazy like that in The Middle of Nowhere, Minnesota."

Filled with a deadly cocktail of anger, hurt, shame, and rejection, I hissed, "_Go to Hell_," and bolted out the back door, not caring how threadbare I was. At that moment, I didn't care if I was ever going to that house again. All I cared about was the girl.

**Songs from my playlist (they may or may not reflect on the chapter):**

**"Inside Out" by Eve 6**

**"Ball and Chain" by Social Distortion**

**"Starlight" by Muse**

**"Damn Regret" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus **

**"Long Nights" by Eddie Vedder (I'm a die-hard Into The Wild fan *blush*)  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Grace POV

_It was too hot, too hot, too hot. There wasn't enough air to breathe. His scent carried through the small space, alcohol and anger and a lifetime of bottled feelings and what-ifs. _

_I was suffocating, no sound could come out of my mouth. Too hot too hot too hot. _

_I couldn't breathe. _

_Too hot too hot too hot_

_The oxygen was gone_

_toohot toohot toohot_

_and all of my screams were silent_

##

I jerked awake with a gasp, sweat on my neck making me shiver. It seemed too real. It seemed like a memory, but I knew it wasn't.

It couldn't be. I would remember my own death.

The clock read **3:52 AM** as I glared at it and groaned quietly into my pillow. My legs were too warm, so I kicked the blankets off and lay in my pyjamas, brain frantic.

As the funeral grew closer, so did the nightmares. It started out as once, maybe, a week, and now it was every other night and the peace I desperately wanted from sleep evaded me. Mom had tried to offer me some Ambien, but I refused, not wanting to have to use medication because of him. He didn't have power over me anymore. He couldn't hurt me ever again.

Yet, as I silently chanted my mantras to keep from crying or punching my wall, I knew somewhere that he still did hurt me. That I wouldn't ever really escape him, even in his death. He'd left too many scars in my mind, too many reminders of why not to trust. I would never again be completely comfortable around alcohol, never be able to look at my childhood home the same way. I was robbed of a place of comfort; I didn't have anything from my early years that wasn't tainted with _him_.

I knew that I had a roof over my head and food on my plate every night, but did that mean that I deserved to silently fear the one who I should have trusted with my life? Did I deserve to be bruised and roughed up as a child?

_Am I worth anything?_

##

"Mom... Mom... _Mom_... MOM!" I yelled as I tried to get her attention. She was talking - and flirting - with whoever was on the phone. It was someone from the art studio she worked at, but I couldn't be sure of who or why.

I pinched her barely-there arm fat (constant motion does a lot in the calorie department) and she yelped, swatting away my hand as I stifled a laugh. She said her goodbye and tried to look annoyed at me. I smirked.

"What did I say about the crab-claw? What did I say? It hurts like a mofo, that's what I said. Goodness, Grace." Mom pretended to sigh, but I could see the tell-tale smile on her face.

"_Anyways_," I continued, "you need to double check everything. Our flight is in eight hours. That's eight hours to make sure you don't forget anything. Toothbrush? Contact case? Socks? I know how you feel when you only have two or three pairs and you have four or five pairs of jeans."

I didn't appreciate having to be the mom, but if I wasn't when we had to go on road-trips or flights, who would be?

"Yeah, yeah, got it," she replied distractedly.

"MOM. I, for one, am not going to listen to you whine and moan and nag about stupid crap that I reminded you of. I will throw you out of the car and drive myself." I sounded joking, but I was serious. Too many times she had forgotten things she needed and I had to listen to it the whole way.

"Okay, Grace, I'm doing it right now. But..." Mom looked at me excitedly.

I gasped a little. "_No_."

She squealed slightly and grinned. "_YES."_

I stifled a squeal and yelled "OMIGOD!" while Mom jumped up and down and I practically did a happy dance.

"Yeeeees!" she sang. "They're putting it up! They're displaying my work in the studio! This might be it for us, Gracie!" She squealed again and I threw my arms around her, both of us rejoicing.

Mom had been begging the studio to display some of her work for months, just asking for one to be hung with a price tag and maybe, _just maybe_, if we got lucky, someone would like it. Between my part-time job at a local bank and her full-time at the studio, we didn't scrape together that much - usually only enough for food, bills, art supplies, and maybe a little left over for a night out or books.

School had been going beautifully for me. I had a best-guy-friend, Victor, who acted like a jerk on the outside, but really was a sweet, relaxed guy. We had no romantic tension - were more like siblings than friends. He was my dose of reality and humor when I needed to find peace in my own head. Victor chose to be mean at first glance simply because he had trust issues like me, and his philosophy was something along the lines of "If they won't stick around to listen, then they don't deserve to hear me speak."

Basically, if you didn't see past his less-than-sunshine exterior after a while, you weren't worth his time.

I had other friends, as well, but none of them were as close as Victor. Since he had a troubled past like me, we could relate and talk and have bull-sessions for hours on end.

The first time I had told him about my father, he had shrugged and replied, "I was wondering when you were gonna fess up to your issues." We both cried (much to my surprise) while I retold him my story and he retold me his.

Turns out Victor was a victim of parental drug-use, resulting in his going to the streets and getting picked up by an abused-children's shelter. They tutored and counseled him there, but he was still withdrawn. He eventually was able to go back to school and to a foster home with parents that were seemingly perfect. Once Victor was there, though, he knew it was all a charade and they really just did it to get the money. The foster parents fought daily and, along with the three other kids they had there, took their rage out on Victor. He left the house, but continued to attend school.

By the time Social Services found out, Victor was a little over 16, and at his request, he became an emancipated minor.

Through it all, though, he retained his quiet kindness and sense of humor. Coupled with his dedication to school, he became my inspiration. He'd been exposed to things many people only heard about or saw on the news, and still turned into this great person, which is why he became my inspiration.

I knew that as long as I had my best friend, I would be fine. I would take the nightmares and the lingering memories and conquer them, remaining above the pain and past.

XXX

As we strolled sleepily through the airport, something caught my attention. I did a double-take – which was difficult since I'd woken up before the sun on a Saturday – and realized it was a scent.

Wolf.

Suddenly, my senses were alive and I could smell _everything_. The stale, dustiness of my suitcase. The grease from the fast food restaurants around the airport. The warm, sugary smell of the chocolate bar Mom held. I could tell what shampoo the man a few yards away used.

My thoughts were scattered. _It's been _months_, _I frantically thought. I thought I'd gotten rid of it. I thought it had gone away for good. I'd beaten it down, ignored it, denied it, and still it came back to haunt me.

I nonchalantly inhaled through my nose a few more times and determined that no, it wasn't _my _wolf, but just a dog that was seemingly part wolf. Normal wolf.

_What else kind of wolf is there?_ my mind supplied.

Right.

It must have just been my lack of rest...

I jerked back, realizing I was about to run into someone, and saw Mom to my left, looking at the flight schedule through bleary eyes.

"Graaace," she groaned. "I think our flight is delaaayed," she whined again.

I checked it. "No, Mom, that's a different flight you're seeing. You're too tired for this. Let me handle it." I was already wide awake, anyways.

Mom quickly agreed and, by some miracle, we eventually got into our seats and back to relaxation.

As my mind drifted and my body began to sag with rest, I had flashbacks of that day from so many years ago. Those yellow eyes. The feeling of cold seeping into my body. I remembered seeing the same wolf at the forest's edge every winter, those eyes watching me, following me. They were always _just _observing, never participating.

I'd spent a lot of my time outside in those last few years, wanting to find some peace and sanity in an otherwise torn home. The fresh air and warming sunshine always made me feel like I might be any other kid with loving, supportive parents and a picturesque family life. The tire swing in our back yard served as my other home; it was a place of comfort where I could read and escape into my books as a child.

And that wolf was there every time, skirting the edge like some sort of phantom of winter. He (I could just _tell_ it was a he) was elusive and silent, but there was no hostility. I could smell his wariness, but I would pick up the faint hope and curiosity that drew him closer and kept him coming back.

I never understood it. I still didn't, almost ten years later, and it had always nagged at my mind, a faint whisper of questions that seemed to grow louder as time went on.

My thoughts dissolved as eyes slid shut and oblivion took over.

* * *

A/N: So, my pretties, I haven't updated this story in a good, long while. RL has been - to say the least - insane. I'm trying to resurface one FFnet. My muses - and computer - have been absent of late, but believe me, the angst is in anything but short supply. Oh, lovely, teenage, supernatural angst. To all of you: a gagillion thank yous. My writing is my passion and to know that people like it just brightens my day. This chapter is sort of a gift to all of you guys, but hopefully I'll get to write another chapter this week. To my beta, Sillysac: thank you for not letting me use the word 'just' so much. You're the bomb.

Songs (these sort of relate to this chapter): Tell me I'm a Wreck by Every Avenue (wonderful guys - got to meet the guitarist at their last concert here), Just Around the Riverbend from Pocahontas, Just Like You by Three Days Grace, Goodnight Moon by Go Radio (I could wax poetic about these fellas - please, if you like music, at least try out this song. I think you'll like it C:)


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